58. Omey Island

Omey Island is tiny, separated from the mainland by a strand of shallow water that at low tide reveals three miles of golden sand. In the summer at low tide they have horse races on the strand - it's that kind of place. Omey is a sacred island for the people of the West of Ireland, and it is sacred for the Bakers too, as that is where my mother scattered my father's ashes 18 years ago.

When on family holidays in the area we'd drive across the sand, put down our picnic rug and stay there for the day. When the small brother was a baby he was fond of eating the thistles and sand of Omey Island, and look how tall and handsome he turned out. Mum spent most of the day with her bottom in the air, fishing about under the sand with her badger paws looking for cockles (which then she made us eat - not so good.)

Dad gave me my first ever driving lesson on Omey, but gave up when I hurtled towards one of the few immoveable objects in the strand at 40 miles per hour, in reverse. Why were we going backwards, when we could have been going forwards? At the end of the day we all piled in to Sweeney's pub just across the water for a Britvic 55 or a Cidona before going back to whichever rented cottage we were in for sausages and mash. Compared to that, you can keep posh hols in hot places.

So last weekend I walked across the strand, which was still wet and covered in bumpy squiggles of sand, to the island and had a little mooch about. I stood on a high point and looked across to the mainland, and down the estuary both ways - left to the Atlantic, right to the sea lough - and thought that a nice island with a view and a regular horse event was exactly the kind of thing he liked.

There are a few houses on Omey but both the cemetery and the island itself are safe from development which shows that the Irish are smart about some things. There was a gaggle of nice looking cows standing together having a cow meeting and my sister remembers meeting a nice old chap who lived there who had an excellent dog called Rex.

So Omey was always special - and one day I hope the next generation of sand-eating Bakers will eat their egg sandwiches on a rug, and swim in the sea, and stand on a high spot and think that a view and some cows and a regular horse event is just exactly right.